


are we out of the woods yet?

by irishais



Category: FF8, Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: F/F, two mercenaries get caught up in sexy bullshit what's not to love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-03 02:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10233650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishais/pseuds/irishais
Summary: Someone has tried to kill her. Xu isn't really a fan of that. (Xu/Quistis, inevitably caught up in something they hadn't gone looking for.)





	

 

She is driving one-handed, the other frantically pressing her own bloodsoaked t-shirt against the bullet wound in her gut, foot flat on the pedal, speeding through the street.

There’s a hospital around here somewhere. Shame she can’t quite remember where it is.

Xu drives, and bleeds, and swears as she rips in and out of different lanes, sleek black car battered and broken and still performing like it’s brand new (it should, she just bought the damn thing a month ago.)

She drives.

She swerves to miss something, someone, some--

\--

Everything is very, very white.

(I’m dead.)

Everything is incredibly, vibrantly, angelic-white, and she is also in incredible, vibrant, hellish pain. So. Not dead. Okay. She can deal with this, forcing her eyes open even though all they want to do is stay closed against the snowy walls and ceiling.

It’s like sun reflecting on the aftermath of a blizzard. It’s too hard to keep her eyes open more than a squint. She gives up, and lets herself do a touch test. Her fingers find bandages piled high against her stomach, all her insides largely where they’re supposed to be, apparently, but there’s no telling what damage she’s endured and had repaired in however long it’s been since she’s been out, the screaming crush of metal crumpling around her, the smack of her head against the steering wheel, the iron stink of her blood seeping from the hole in her skin.

Holes, really. She keeps forgetting about the exit wound, until she shifts against the thinpaper sheets of the hospital bed, and whimpers. It’s an undignified noise, a sign of weakness, but it’s been one of those goddamned months, and she gives into it, her exhalation long, ragged, trying to figure out if she’s all in a piece or if they’ve had to carve any bits of her away.

Ten fingers, ten toes, a hell of a new scar, if something doesn’t go horribly wrong between now and home.

Not dead. Not in great shape, but not dead, so there’s that.

She’s had worse.

Xu wiggles her toes one last time, just to assess that her spine isn’t broken and she’s in control of her faculties, and passes out thirty seconds later.

Fantastic.

\--

She wakes up again to blissful darkness, the white room cast in careless moonstruck shadow, and finds the energy in her from deep down somewhere to hunt up the bed controls. Sitting up is a strange relief. Makes her feel more alert, more alive, and right now, that’s really all she can ask for.

Well, that, a shitton of morphine, and a really strong cup of coffee.

There’s a beeping, coming from her left, and Xu realizes that she’s dozed off again, that there’s a faint glow of the kind only emitting from a smartphone, and that she isn’t alone anymore.

“Still playing that stupid game?” she asks, and the question takes a bit out of her, pushing against the bandage along her skin. Hyne. Shit. God.

(Remind me to never get shot again.)

“I like this game.”

“You’ve spent 200 gil on it by this point. You’d better like it. Or else I’m having you committed.”

Quistis laughs, relief coloring it as she drops her phone back into her bag and shifts what appears to be the most uncomfortable chair designed by man to scoot closer to Xu’s bedside.

“You look lousy.”

“Oh, good. Because I feel awful.”

It is a not so subtle hint that Quistis picks up on, and the room glows with an altogether different color, faint white emitting from her palm as she digs up a healing spell, a low-level Cure that sinks into Xu’s skin like starlight. It leaves her sighing in relief, relaxing against her pillow.

“Thanks.” The benefits of having a best friend who can cast without paperwork behind it. “I mean, you could’ve sprung for a Cura, at least, but--”

“Greedy bitch.” Quistis smiles, though, weaving her fingers together and cracking her knuckles to work out the stiffness casting leaves behind. “I’ll just leave you to suffer next time.”

“You wouldn’t. You love me too much.”

“I so would. Don’t tempt me.”

\--

She is out again, for a long time, it seems, because when she comes to, Quistis isn’t there anymore, but her bag is still sitting on the chair, and there’s a takeaway coffee cup on Xu’s little bedside table.

Coffee. Sweet, glorious--

It’s hot, still. Quistis probably enchanted it-- Xu’s seen her do it too many times to think otherwise, a tiny thread of a fire spell sinking into the container and spinning through the drink like a thread of lava.

God. The first sip is heaven, and Xu has to pace herself not to down the whole thing in one go, because she’s sure there’s some rule against liquids post-surgery, but she hasn’t seen a doctor yet, so screw them.

Coffee this good didn’t come from a hospital vending machine. How long has she been out, anyway?

She’s knee-deep in her emails when Quistis finally returns, a department store bag in hand.

“You don’t happen to have a charger in there, do you? Your phone’s almost dead.” Xu logs out of her Garden account, though, a curt message sent to Kramer that she’s alive and well (for the moment, at least, until someone tries to kill her again. Xu gives them a week.)

“I leave you alone for two hours and this is the thanks I get. I even bought you a dress.”

“Ooh. Give it here.” Xu happily relishes the phone for the bag, reaching past the folded tissue paper for the boxes. It’s a pretty dress, loose and light and buttons down the front so that she can actually get herself dressed and out of this hospital gown without help, new shoes (flats, Xu notes with some disdain, but it’s probably for the best), fresh underwear that isn’t soaked through with her blood.

“Have I told you that I love you, lately?”

“Not in recent memory. Do you need help getting changed? They said you’re free to go.”

They said no such thing, judging by the way Quistis moves with no-nonsense confidence, slipping the IV line carefully from Xu’s arm and sticking a bandage over the pinprick. She’s snuck a peek at Xu’s chart, then, made her own assessments-- Dr. Kadowaki and the field-experience of SeeD prove to be better than actual medical school, even though Quistis is taking classes at a school in Dollet to supplement-- and is springing her from this joint.

If Quistis were amenable, Xu would, quite frankly, marry her right now.

“I should be okay, but I’ll keep the door unlocked in case I bash my head on the sink or something.”

Standing is a complicated maneuver, but boosted with another hit of magic, and Xu is upright, walking like she’s ninety across the short space between bed and bathroom. She does look like complete shit, the mirror reassures her, but there’s not much she can do about it here, save to wet her hands and finger-comb out her hair, shed the hospital gown in favor of new clothes.

It makes her feel a bit more human, even if the bruises spattered across her skin look like drying paint. She’s never been much of an artist.

“You okay in there?” Quistis calls, and it occurs to Xu that she’s been taking an awfully long time between each button of the dress, fingers not wanting to cooperate quite right. Morphine, Cures, gunshot. Bad combination when it comes to fine motor skills.

She finishes, scowls at her reflection but can’t do much about the bruised swelling beneath her eyes and the bandage across her nose that’s a clear indicator that she cracked something, and leaves the light on when she walks back into the room.

“I hate to be a wimp, but you stole a chair, right?”

There’s a second where the joke doesn’t sink in, but Quistis catches on that Xu mean the kind with wheels, and holds up one finger, stepping out of the room, glancing down the hall, and returning quickly with a wheelchair.

“I was just going to toss you over my shoulder, but I thought that would be a little obvious.”

Xu sinks into the seat gratefully. She has nothing to take with her, phone gone (by now, remotely wiped by Garden), car undoubtedly totaled, clothes she came with garbage. Everything else is in her hotel room, except her gun.

Dammit, she liked that gun. But it’s gone with the car. Has to be.

“It’s in my bag,” Quistis says casually, and Xu is taken aback for a second-- had she been speaking out loud? “The car’s a loss, but I cleaned out your personal stuff.”

“Oh. Cool. Thanks.”

Quistis’ jacket is white, and it’s on purpose, probably nicked from a locker room or off the back of someone’s chair, and no one stops them on their way out into the dead of night in Deling City.

What are friends for, after all, if not to steal you from a hospital bed?

 


End file.
